Perfectly Plastic
by enchantedscatterbrained
Summary: She is the Barbie doll his father never bought him.


Disclaimer: Glee Belongs to fox.

Beta: etacanis, thanks, Emily !!

This was written isnpired by the lovely http:// community . livejournal. com /quinnkurt/ (_Sorry, had to space it- __This community is dedicated to anything dealing with Kurt and Quinn, friendship or hell even a relationship... WHATEVER. Fanfiction, music videos, graphics, discussion, etc_.)

**Perfectly Plastic**

She is the Barbie doll his father never bought him.

She's beautiful and blond; perfectly _plastic._ But she has flaws and holes, he can tell. And how couldn't he? He's been obsessing over it, over_ her _for _years_. He has watched her in all her forms, with her cute little dresses, accessories and a bunch of style no-no's, _day_ after _day_, waiting behind a glassed wall.

It is cliché and _sad _of him to have watched her like this, to have wanted her like this. Pathetic, he admits. _Pathetic_ he repeats in silence.

He hated her. Once and millions of other times.

He hated her empty smile plastered on unwrinkled skin. He hated her eyes, and the void and the nothingness they would offer to his.

He hated her clothes and all those designers who could _play_ with fabric, fashion, beauty and art when he was stuck with a baseball kit he hadn't asked for at Christmas.

He hated her, all alone and pretty in her carton and plastic cage. He despised her, protected by an armor made of whatever was popular and people wanted to look at, to be like. He envied her, so gorgeous and safe of everything that was ugly, wrong and alive.

He hated her. Every time he would catch a glimpse of that beautiful doll, his heart would feel squished by merciless claws, ripped and left alive with invisible incurable wounds.

How did he break free, then? How did he untangle himself from childish hopes and regrets?

Everything is different now, yet everything stays the same.

_That's life_ he guesses, just guesses, because he doesn't have the brains, the experience or the energy to understand. It scares him just how deep he'd be _willing_ to sink to find out what changed exactly and how much it changed_ him._ It's a dark sea he thinks, and he's not sure whether he'll swim or drown.

So he stays on the surface and watches her, watches them (Quinn Fabray, by stealing glances during classes, rehearsals and the hall - and Barbie, by passing by in the shopping mall). He watches the girl and the doll, what a blonde has become and what she used to have.

The plastic doll becomes in nothing but a replacement. Because Barbie doesn't stare back and question Kurt about this sudden interest. He can't watch Quinn like that; he can't_ keep_ watching Quinn like that.

It stains his soul and heavies his heart. She's a mermaid, he thought once, because weren't mermaids gorgeous and deadly? Didn't they eat men and have no soul?

She's still a mermaid, he thinks sadly. She's the little mermaid, he states with a joyless smile on his lips but not Disney, not anymore. She's that nameless sea child now. The one damned to turn into sea foam, the one who lost her kingdom and voice for the wrong guy.

_That's _teenage_ life,_ he muses, full of drama, lies, secrets and overreacted problems.

That's how they are, how they were raised, finding themselves on television stereotypes and carrying their parent's unfinished goals and dreams.

They're not kids anymore, but they cry like them. They're still not adults, but they steal their phrases and fears.

_Hate_ is a grown up verb, he tells himself. Teenage boys shouldn't waste their time trying to use such complex words. Because they don't know, he doesn't know, what hate really is.

Because Quinn Fabray's secret is out. And the old queen's porcelain mask lies on the floor, shattered, lifeless, with a little girl's tears and flaws.

And what was hate, really? Envy and bitterness, childish wrath and personal insecurities, that's it. Irrational hormones and teenage stupidity working so busy and happily to build a blind monster.

There are greater things than that. And oh, God, is he actually growing? Kurt feels his cheeks burn a bit with that thought and thinks that maybe his mother is smiling.

The girl he used to call Barbie is no longer a life sized doll but a human with demons and regrets. Just like him.

The world has, and always has had, different shades of grey and there are colors and life just everywhere.

So when he sees her at the school hall and she gives him a shy, defenseless smile as a greeting, he just reaches for her hand.

Her eyes are dim, washed away by tears and they shout to the wind, so they words can be wild and free, 'My world is falling down'.

He doesn't need an excuse and doesn't wait for one. He just pulls her into a hug, singing a song to shush everybody else's voices.

"It'll be alright." He wants to tell her, but the sentence offers an undefined future and she needs more than that now.

But he _can_ offer his hug and presence, his silence and song.

She appreciates it, and she lets him know by pressing his face in his shoulder, whispering a weak 'thank you'.

They walk away, next stop, the girl's restroom, leaving behind a path of tears and perfectly plastic dolls.

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Comments are love!


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